Hush Now Baby, Baby
by TreesAreSnazzy
Summary: John is off hunting. It's nightime in a New Orleans motel and it's time for kid brothers to go to bed. AU- Sam is 5, Dean is 26. Now a multi-chapter that takes place during the pilot. Awesome!Bigbrother!Dean, Adorable!Wee!Sam.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey there! So I don't have an excuse for this story except that I wanted to read it. And I couldn't sleep tonight and I babysat earlier today and yeah. So Sam is 5, Dean is 26 and this is basically the pilot, just, ya know, without the whole Stanford thing. They're in New Orleans (where Dean told Sam his previous hunt was) and John is away (soon to be missing). Mary only died 5 years ago. I don't know if it'll go anywhere, but regardless, I hope you enjoy it :) Oh, and there are problem a ton of errors. It is nearly 5:30 in the morning._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters._

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><p>"Yo, move it. Teeth and pajamas and-" Dean whirled a finger in an all-encompassing gesture "-all that jazz."<p>

The motel was dark, the television flashing dramatically as it shifted from cop drama rerun to blaring, cheap ambulance chaser advertisement.

"Just till the end."

"No, nuhuh," Dean shook his head. "I said next commercial and it's now next commercial, so beat it."

"I said till the end."

Dean gave his brother an appraising look. "Dude, you're five. I think you've had more than enough 21 freaking Jumpstreet for the night."

Little Sam Winchester collapsed back on the threadbare couch huffily, blowing his bangs out of his eyes to pout at his big brother. "Deeeeean, but I wanna see the bust."

Dean couldn't help but quirk his eyebrows and mutter, "me, too, bro." And then when Sam wrinkled his forehead in one-hundred percent concentrated thought, Dean full out laughed and grabbed his little brother by the ankles. He threw Sam's legs over his shoulder and while Sam squirmed, curls flopping about, gravity revealing a forehead Dean didn't often see, Dean said, "Perp had to be taken down by force, Captain Fuller."

"Perp … fights … back!" Sam squirmed some more, fury etched on his features until one of the hands Dean had secured around his stomach scrunched, causing Sam to burst out in a fit of giggles. "Dean!" he shrieked.

"What?" Dean walked down the center of the sitting area, being careful to keep Sam's flailing limbs away from lamps.

"You-you're tickling me!" Sam giggled breathlessly.

"Nope," Dean said vaguely while doing exactly what Sam accused him of. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Yeah!" Sam laughed. "Yeah huh, you li-li-liar!"

After what felt like an eternity for Sam, Dean flipped him upright and placed him on the bathroom counter. Keeping one hand out defensively, just in the rare case that Sam might fall, Dean leaned across the small room to flick on the overhead light and snagged a child-sized Batman toothbrush. Sam kicked his feet back and forth, unsuccessfully hiding a grin when he kicked Dean repeatedly in the thigh.

"Ay, watch where you're kicking, Mia Hamm," Dean growled as he put the toothbrush into Sam's hand, earning more giggles from his little brother.

"Hmmm," Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Hey, Dean, do you like cars?"

"You know I do, Sammy," Dean answered though he knew full well what Sam was up to. He leaned his elbows on the counter and looked at his brother, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"Hmm," Sam hummed some more, staring at his toothbrush. "I like cars,too, I like 'em lots. Hey, Dean, do you think that Batman likes cars?"

"Batmobile, kiddo. Speaking of which-"

"DEAN," Sam practically shouted over his brother. "Uncle Bobby has lots of books and you can learn lots of stuff from books, like how to tie your shoes and stuff. And how to build eyeglasses and-"

Casually, Dean clamped one hand over Sam's mouth and placed the other gently on the back of his head. Immediately Sam's hazel eyes popped wide and he set forth with a lot of muffled indignation. Dean bobbed his head as if watching a ticking clock. When Sam stopped being indignant and started licking Dean's palm, Dean said, "Guess I won't have to feed you breakfast tomorrow. Hey, you're gonna brush your teeth, okay?"

Sam glared and mumbled something.

"Huh?" Dean questioned.

Sam mumbled some more.

"What's that?" Dean took his hand away.

Sam took a dramatic gasp of fresh air. "I _said,_ 'can't brush my teeth with your dumb hand over my mouth.'"

Dean rolled his eyes as he squeezed out some toothpaste. "Just do it, okay? I'm gonna get your clothes. Don't fall off the counter and break yourself."

"Don't fall of your feet and break _yourself,_" Sam retorted, foam dribbling down his chin.

Dean raised his hand over his shoulder as he strode out of the room. "Don't you worry, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart!" Sam screeched, making Dean chuckle.

When Dean reappeared, Sam was kicking his feet against the sink cupboard, his socks all but fallen off, covering just his toes. "Telekinesis doesn't develop until you're at least seven," Dean teased. "Might as well just pull 'em off or else we're gonna be here for a long time."

Sam complied to Dean's suggestion without any fuss, cluing Dean into Sam's sleepiness.

Save the distant buzz of an ice machine and the rushing of tires on pavement, things were quiet for a few minutes. Dean took a washcloth first to Sam's face, getting rid of the Oreo evidence that Sam's toothbrush couldn't destroy and taking care to get behind his ears. There was pen on Sam's hands that stubbornly refused to come off. Sam's feet twitched at the memory of recently being tickled as Dean took a little soap to them.

"How'd you get your feet so dirty?" Dean mumbled.

Sam shrugged and rubbed sleepily at his eyes. "From dirt, I guess."

Dean felt a tiny smile cross his lips, the kind only Sammy could evoke from him. It was always accompanied by a feeling of simple happiness, of warmth. The feeling lingered as Dean eased Sam off the counter and Sam's little arms closed around his neck. He walked slowly, feeling comfort in the warm body clinging to him, to the adjoining room where he and Sam had been sleeping.

"C'mon, Sammy-boy, bedtime," Dean whispered when he lowered Sam to the bed and Sam didn't immediately let go. God, the kid was tiny, curling his three foot frame to the size of a pillow at the head of the bed. Sam was apparently too tired to even wriggle under the covers (masquerade patterned in honor of their New Orleans location, in addition to the sightless masks nailed to the walls) and after Dean got out his boots and jeans, he did Sam the favor of tucking him in. It was early yet for a twenty-six year old and Dean had turned off the light and was on his way out to continue their 21 Jumpstreet marathon (he couldn't help it, that Holly Robinson acting all righteous and bad) when Sam spoke up drowsily, "Hey, Dean?"

Dean froze in the doorway, dreading Sam's question. Here he was thinking he got off easy for the night. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"When's Daddy coming back?"

Dean was quick with his standby answer. "Soon. Don't worry, he'll be back soon."

"You always say that," Sam whispered tremulously.

Dean scrubbed his face with his hand, internally debating for a few moments. "Give me a second, Sammy," he said softly, padding out of the room.

He redid the salt lines, checked the magazine of his Colt 1911, and, of course, double checked the locks on the doors and windows. Dad didn't like for Dean to leave on too many lights, if any at all, because he said that it was encouraging Sam to be afraid of the dark, but Dean didn't much fancy waking up to Sam screaming because he ran his face into a table trying to find his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. So he left the light on over the stove.

Dean laid down and reached his hand across the space between his bed and Sam's. He found his little brother's clammy hand and gripped it. "I'm here, Sammy, okay?" He said softly, rubbing his rough thumb over Sam's soft hand. "You can go to sleep. I'm here."

"Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice trembled.

Dean gently tightened his grip on Sam's hand. "Yeah, Sammy."

"Can I sleep with you?" Sam choked out. "P-please, Dean?"

Dean perched himself on one elbow, holding open his arms. "C'mon, buddy."

And Sam was gripping Dean's t-shirt in his little fists, pulling his trembling body over the edge of the bed and burying his face and knees in Dean's chest. Hot tears soaked through to Dean's skin. He wrapped his brother in a tight hug, trying to stop the shaking.

"I want daddy," Sam sobbed. "Da-a-addy. I want daddy."

Dean buried his face in Sam's hair breathing the smell of the motel soap that had stung Sammy's eyes this morning, made Sammy cry this morning. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured. "Calm down. I'm here. Dean's here."

Sam snuffled and gasped, over and over again, "Da-a-addy, I wan' daddy …"

Such were their nights.

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><p><em>Reviews, even a quick one, would make me so happy :) Thanks folks.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much to all the amazing reviews! I have not done a chapter fanfic in soooo long that I cannot even believe I'm posting chapter two here! So nothing too exciting here, just fluff, but I'm thinking we'll have some drama next chapter (if there is a next chapter? I don't know, guys!) I apologize for any errors and I hope you enjoy this little trip the boys take. It made me smile._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural._

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><p>As far as Sammy knew, they hadn't heard from John in a week. In reality, it had been twice that.<p>

Whenever Sam asked in the past seven days (which was everyday, several times) Dean had told him that dad had called when he was in the bathroom, during Power Rangers, while he was sleeping.

"He said he misses you, Sammy. He's just real busy and can't stay on the phone too long."

Sam would look up at brother with big, trusting eyes and nod. "Oh. Didja tell him I misseded … that I miss him, too?"

"Duh, dude."

And that would make a tiny-toothed grin flash across Sam's face. "Good!"

But things were different this morning. Dean was coming out of the bathroom, combing water out of his hair, when he noticed Sammy was awake.

"Good morning to you, good morning to you," Dean crooned grinningly. "Whaddya say to breakfast, Sammy? Chocolate chip pancakes, strawberries, ice cold milk, the whole shebang. Then we can wander around a little? Maybe go to the zoo?"

Sam fiddled with the bed covers. "'Kay."

Dean put his hands on his hip, assessing this disinterested Sam. "'Kay'? That's all you can say? You've been begging me to go to the zoo ever since we drove by it."

Sam rolled his eyes and copped an attitude. "What-_ever,"_ he said, dropped off the bed and throwing himself on the floor in front of the TV. "I wanna watch more Jumpstreet."

Dean hated it when Sam walked away from him. "Cut it out the Valley Girl act and come here." Dean stood his ground in the kitchen, ten feet away from Sam. Another eyeroll from Sam. The kid kicked his feet on the floor furiously. "Okay, _dad._"

Then Sam visibly cringed and Dean knew. He sighed heavily and made his way over to his little brother. For a moment he towered over Sam before thinking better and crouching down beside him. "Spill."

"I just thought maybe … maybe when I opened my eyes, he'd be here," Sam said softly.

That's what John told Sam on short hunts, things like burning bones or stake-outs.

Sam would dance around his dad, tugging on his sleeve. "Daddy, where you going?"

"Nowhere important," John would respond gruffly, shaking Sam off. "I have a gun in my hand, be careful. What have I told you about guns?"

Sam would recite dully, "Always pretend a gun is loaded."

"Exactly. And what happens when a gun is loaded?"

"It shoots things and hurts them and sometimes kills them," Sam would repeat, like he had so many times before. Then, his head would tilt curiously and he would say something like, "But daddy, pretending ain't real. Pretending means it's not for real."

Then maybe John would stop for a moment, a flicker of fear licking in his belly. "Sam, guns are real. If you don't follow orders, guns will hurt you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," Sam would say miserably. "I just wanted to know." And, Sammy being Sam would go and crack his dad and Dean's heart both why doing something like sliding his hand into John's and whispering, "I just miss you when you're not here."

John would crouch down and plant a kiss in Sam's curls. "I'll be home when you open your eyes, kiddo. Be a good little man for your brother or I'll hear about it."

He wouldn't. Hear about it, that is.

Then he'd sling a bag over his shoulder, nod curtly at Dean. And just before shutting the door he might say, "And Dean?"

"Yeah, dad."

"Teach Sam that "ain't" isn't proper. It's sloppy."

Sam would frown at his dad's disappointment.

"Yes, sir," Dean would say.

But that was not the conversation of two weeks before. Two weeks before there were reminders of Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim's numbers, of how much money would be allotted for what, lists of tasks to be carried out. So as bad as Dean did feel for his little brother, he couldn't help pointing out, "Hey, dad didn't say he would be. So you need to forget it for now, okay?"

Sam frowned miserably. "But Dean I just-"

"Nope, come on." Dean went back to their room, opened a duffel, and started throwing clothes in the hall. "Be a big boy and get dressed."

Sam hesitated then, with a heavy sigh, started changing into some jeans and a long sleeve shirt.

"Good job, Sammy," Dean praised, coming out of the room. It wasn't exactly something that typically warranted praise but the smile Sam gave him as he shoved his head through the neck hole of his shirt was worth it.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam held tight to Dean's hand, hopping on his toes. The air smelled of clean hay and wet fur but it was a surprisingly nice smell, Dean noticed, it reminded him of going to the zoo as a kid. Quick memories flashed of climbing on smooth wooden fences, leaning in as close to Tiger enclosure as he could, separated by a gulch and some nets and held back by Mary's gentle hand. He felt warm sun, despite it being fairly cold, and the awe of such a fierce animal being so close.

Dean grinned down at him. "Yeah, Sammy."

"This is so cool!" he shouted in excitement. He turned shining eyes on his brother. "I ain't never been to the zoon before."

"Zoo, Sammy, not zoon." Dean chuckled. "And yeah, I know. I'd of been there."

Sam's forehead wrinkled in concentration. His lips moved as he silently repeated the word to himself, etching its pronunciation in his memory.

"Hey," Dean said, tugging Sam's hand. He pointed and squinted into the distance. "Hey, Sam, I think they're feeding giraffes over there!"

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Can we do it? Please, Dean, please?" he begged.

"Hell yeah!" Dean crowed.

The two of them rushed forward to where, in fact, people were hand feeding two nineteen-foot-tall giraffes. When they reached the area, there was a line that they quickly hopped into.

"Wow," Sam tilted his head all the way back to see the top of the giraffes. "Wow, it looks like they got clouds on their heads! Do it, Dean."

"Oh, yeah, Sammy, it does! Good eye, dude."

"That girl got to pet it!"

"Look, look. That kid wimped out and now the giraffe's lookin' at him all like, 'Give me my lunch!'"

"Ha, yeah! That's funny, Dean."

"Of course it was, I was the one who said it."

"Are you gonna feed one?" Sam asked.

Dean had been shifting excitedly, peering around those in front of him. "Of course! It's a freaking giraffe."

"Hey, Dean, they have black tongues!"

"Aw, yeah, Sammy! Innit awesome? It's so they don't get sunburned."

"Wow."

A curly haired kid with glasses turned around and said to Sam, "Do you know why a giraffe has such a long neck?"

Sam shook his head wordlessly, unable to imagine what more mind-boggling information he might receive about these animals.

"Most people say it's just so they can reach the leaves really high on the trees but it's also because they fight by swinging their necks at each other. Their necks are really strong."

Sam tried to picture it. Finally he said, "Like … like a mace?"

Several adults turned and eyed Dean suspiciously. Dean laughed awkwardly. "He's going through a medieval stage," he said. Sam looked up at him, confusion clear on his face. "Watches a lot of … Disney, you know? That Cinderella is some good family fun, whoo boy, but full of violence."

Sam wrinkled his nose, sure Dean was teasing him. "I don't watch Cinderella, D_ean_. Uncle Bobby told dad that the best way to kill-"

"Kill misbehavior is with a good time out!"

"TO KILL AN OBOUR is with a mace and that he did it three years ago."

The spectacled boy gaped at Sam and remained with such a look on his face as his mother dragged him forward. "Peter, hurry up and feed the giraffe. Quickly."

"Sammy," Dean hissed. "Don't talk about that, it's not real world stuff."

"Yes it is, Dean, daddy said-"

A young woman in safari gear called out, "Next!" and Sam forgot his argument immediately and rushed forward. Dean followed, shaking his head and taking note that he and Sam would have to talk later. "This is gonna be swee-eet!" Dean sang.

The girl explained to Sam how to hold out his hand flat and how he could pet the giraffe if he was very, very gentle. Excitement flared up in Dean again. He held out his hands grinning, "Leaves, please!"

"Oh, usually we only allow the children …" She said regretfully. "Just for time reasons."

Dean pulled his hands back immediately, rubbing one hand through his hair casually. He took a few steps backward out of line. "Of course," he said nonchalantly. "You go ahead, Sammy."

Sam didn't move. He was quiet for a moment before looking up at the girl. "I want to give my brother my leaves," he said firmly, and he held them out to Dean. "I know

The girl couldn't help it. "Awww," she cried. "That is so sweet!"

"Sammy, you go on …"

"Don't give up your turn, honey, your brother can feed them, too," she said, waving Dean over. Her face flushed red as she realized suddenly what a total fox the guy was. If it had been the beginning of her shift and she was feeling more alert, no way would she have sent him away.

Sam beamed, hopping around. "Dean, come here! Come on, hurry!"

Dean came forward and grabbed his leaves. He hitched Sam up on his side. "Let's do this."

Sam giggled when the giraffes licked the leaves off his hands and was amazed by how soft they were. Dean had to admit, he'd seen a lot of things, but this was pretty cool. The animals stared at them, blinking the big sleepy eyes. They had long eyelashes that reminded him of Sammy.

And all too soon their turn was over.

"Pretty awesome, huh, Sam?"

"Super awesome!" Sam cried. Then, "Hey, Dean! Look at that playground!"

It was one of the coolest playgrounds Dean had ever seen and in the past five years, he had seen a lot. It was a huge wooden structure with big trees over head and nets and everything a kid could want.

Dean placed Sam on the ground. "Well go for it, dude."

He was happy to see Sam so happy.

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><p><em>Reviews will fuel me to write, despite having a college and dance career that's calling me to do otherwise! Thanks for reading :)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay guys, so this is totally lame and short, but I have a huge paper coming up so I wanted to get something out here since I have no clue when I'll next be able to write. So maybe so cuteness will give you folks some enjoyment. I hope?_

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><p>The motel was dark, except for the light coming from the kitchen. Dean is fully dressed: jacket, jeans, and boots. He had spent some time packing up their things and having finished, he walked over to Sam's bed.<p>

Very gently he placed his hands under Sam's armpits and picked him up. Limp and warm, Sam surprised Dean by emitting a puppy-like whimper and pushing against his chest.

"It's me, Sammy," Dean whispered.

Sam blinked, face scrunched up in much confusion. "Hwhat?" he whined.

"We're leaving, going somewhere new."

Sam opened his mouth but, still half-asleep, had a hard time making any words come out. "But … but how will daddy know where to find us?"

Dean walked briskly along the poorly lit cement walk that led to the motel office. "I'll call him."

The punk at the counter didn't take his eyes off the television his was watching and simply held out his hand for the room key; Dean had already called.

"Dean," Sam's voice was faint as his brother placed him in the backseat. Dean moved pillows and blankets until he had created the perfect Sammy nest. On top of it all he draped a folded flannel sheet. He pulled it up to Sam's ears and for a moment he kept his hand there on the side of Sam's face, brushing Sam's bangs back with his thumb. Sam's eyes blinked several times.

"Just go to sleep, Sammy."

The door shut, and then Dean's opened and shut. The impala roared to life and soon Sam was being rocked to the most familiar lullaby.

The whir of the tires on pavement, the stars bright and big and many in the sky.

The occasional rattling of an 18-wheeler, flying by, a fellow night traveler.

Mary used to sing "Hey, Jude."

Dean sang "Ramble On."

Sam was asleep in minutes.

When Sam awoke next, the sun was coming through the windows, hot like a hug.

Dean was sprawled sideways in the front seat, one foot on the floorboards and on against the passenger door, a newspaper held out in front of him.

They were just outside San Antonio, not that Sam knew that. For a few minutes, Sam laid in his rumpled nest, trying to figure out what was outside his window. That was how Sam would try and figure out where he was. Usually, he was wrong, but it was a game he liked to play anyways. He couldn't see anything besides the top of some greeny-yellow trees, their branches all very clear through the leaves. The sky was very blue and cloudless. Sam watched a squirrel fuss up and down the tree trunk.

He giggled.

"The princess is awake. About time, too."

Still feeling very quiet in that content, morning, just waking up kind of way, Sam skillfully climbed over the seat and deposited himself in Dean's lap without a word.

Dean adjusted his arms around Sam and held out the newspaper in front of them. Sam touched his fingers to the words yearningly. He was quiet until Dean turned the page. Sports.

"Read. Please."

Dean cleared his throat. "Houston Texans, 19, Cleveland Browns-"

"Hey, Dean. We in Loose-iana?"

"No, Sammy. We're in Texas now," Dean said. "Cleveland Browns 16. This is the first win for-"

"What's Texas?"

"Sammy, you wanted me to read," Dean said. He was tired. He had not slept; Driving was hard without dad.

Sam tilted his head backward against Dean's chest and looked at his brother upside down. "What's Texas?"

Dean took a big breath. "Texas … yeah. Texas is a whole nother country, Sammy," he drawled. Then, in response to Sam's blank look he said, "Not, really. It's a state, like Louisiana." An idea struck him. Dean flipped to the back page of the newspaper, where the weather reports were. He took Sam's hand and placed a finger on Louisiana. "This is where we were. This is Louisiana. This-" he took Sam's finger and moved it to the dot labeled San Antonio. "This is where we are now. This is Texas."

Sam dragged his finger between Louisiana and Texas. "Are we staying here?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope, we're going here. California."

Sam continued his journey along the newsprint until he put his finger next to Dean's. "Wow," he said. "Why?"

Dean took another deep breath. Then, carefully, he said, "Cause Dad told us to, Sammy."

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><p><em>So yeah, super short, super lame. I think you can see where this is going, no? Anyway, I hope it's at least worth an itty bitty review or two?<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Whoo, I'm back! Sorry for the general lameness of no update for a week and a half, but this is a longish chapter and I'm sortaaa finally getting where I want to. I hope you enjoy this cute, pouty little Sam!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.  
><em>

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><p>God, but Dean was freaking exhausted.<p>

Trying to pep up, they walked a few blocks to the McDonald's Dean had passed when he came through town. He had stopped at a corner store before Sam woke up, brushed his teeth in the bathroom, a little water on his face, and grabbed a cup of (not)coffee and a newspaper. But he was no more awake now than he had been before Sam awoke. Sam's day was just beginning but Dean's was only getting longer. Dean was only getting more sleepy.

The thought rolled through his mind, back and forth, over and over again. Beat. Tired. Burnt. Goddamned fracking exhausted.

Sam, conversely, was nothing less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And _loud._ How had Dean never realized how _loud_ an itty bitty thing of a five-year-old can be?

"Hey, Dean," Sam cried. Not waiting for Dean's response, as he normally did, he shouted, "There's a puppy in that window! There's a cat on the steps! There's a tree in the cement! There's a car that's black like ours! There's a shoe on that string! There's a CD in the street! There's –"

Dean opened his eyes wide and strode on forward, for a moment trying to think of things more soothing than Sam's squeaky shriek. He ran through the guitar solo from Fade to Black and by the time he was done, they were at the McDonald's. As he tugged open the door, Sam went _skipping_ by him. As they took their place in line, he dared himself to open his ears.

"Hey, Dean, my shoe makes a squeaking noise when I walk but it's not actually a noise it's just a squeaking feeling but 'cause I feel it I hear it and wow, Dean! Look on the ground! That's the seventh piece of gum I've seen! I saw three on a blue mailbox and two on the sidewalk and one on a stop sign and so now I've seen another and it's blue gum and-"

Dean took a knee beside his brother and squished Sam's face in his hands. Sam tried to keep talking but Dean did his eye widening thing again and begged, "Sammy, God, I know gum's real interesting and I can't wait to hear more about your shoe squeak, because I bet it's screenplay gold, but please, Sammy, please. Just shut up. You'll be my favorite."

Sam wiggled his way out of Dean's hands. He crossed his arms on his chest and squinted at his brother. "Favorite what?"

"What do you mean, favorite what?"

"I'll be your favorite _what?"_

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam, you'll be my _favorite_ favorite. My most favorite thing of all things favorite."

Dean was sure than Sam quirked an eyebrow under that long brown hair. Sam didn't look nearly as impressed as Dean had expected but Sam was at least not being so … shrill. "What is the issue, man?

Sam twisted his mouth, this way and that way before saying, "That's the most favorite, right? You're not tricking, right, Dean?"

"No, Sammy. Not tricking in the least. 'M too tired to trick."

With that statement, a smile split across his face. His dimples showing he said, "Okay. I'll shut up, if I'm really gonna be your most favorite."

"You do that," Dean said gruffly, rubbing an affectionate noogie on his baby brother's head.

Vaguely, Dean realized that nobody was ahead of them in line any longer and rushed up to the counter. Off memory he cited their orders and the middle-aged woman behind the register grinned. "It was about two whole minutes before you realized you were lagging!" She said. "But I understand being distracted by a cute little guy like that!"

Sam smiled and turned big eyes up at her, though he took a step sideways and wrapped his arms around Dean's closest leg. Depending on the day, Sam could be unbelievably shy around people. Dean didn't understand how two minutes before, Sam had been announcing his every thought to the world, and now he was acting like he couldn't speak even if it meant meeting Batman.

"Yeah, he's something," Dean said wearily, though he flashed a grin that he knew to be charming. "Hey, Moira," he said, smoothly speaking the name from the cashier's tag. "You mind just making sure no one grabs our food? I'm just gonna run to the bathroom with my brother here."

She smiled, Mrs. Claus-like. "Of course, dear. Take your time."

Dean had suddenly noticed Sam twist his hand by his side, his thumb in between his middle and forefinger. Once when they were in a town somewhere out East back when Sam was two, there was a babysitter who used some baby sign-language thing to communicate with the kids. John had actually been really into the whole thing, liking that Sam would gain some tools for standard nonverbal communication. Anyway, the sign Sam was making was the one for "bathroom." Sam didn't do it often and usually didn't even seem to realize it. Though he had so politely taken a leak behind a dumpster they had passed, Big Daddy style, on their walk over (how was Dean supposed to ignore that kid's prancing and whining, "Deaaaaaaaan, I gotta peeeee?") apparently that hadn't been enough. Dean couldn't really blame the kid, he guessed, he was only five.

And, apparently, taking Dean's plea to shut up very seriously.

When they came back, their food was ready (and not even out on the counter, where someone might grab it accidentally, but safely beside Moira the cashier). Dean was pleased to see that Moira had slipped them an extra Egg McMuffin and side of hashbrowns.

Unwrapping one of the said Egg McMuffins, Dean said, "Thank-you for being adorable."

"You're welcome," Sam said around a mouthful of griddlecakes.

"Oh no, I was talking to myself," Dean corrected. He shook his head and chuckled, "Silly Sam, you knew that."

Sam pouted, syrup on his nose. "What-ever, Dean."

Dean stuck out his tongue. "Suck it up and drink your chocolate milk, doofus."

Sam stuck out his tongue, too, but did drink his milk, kicking his feet against the torn booth seat. After taking a thoughtful sip he asked, "How come we're going to Ca … Cal …"

"California."

"California," Sam repeated carefully. "Huccome?"

Dean chewed slowly and took a sip of orange juice before saying, "Dad told us to, Sammy. I told you that. He told me to take you to Jericho, a place in California. I've got to do some stuff there. To help dad out."

"Daddy called?"

"Mhm."

"How come he didn't want to talk to me?" Tears were already filling up in Sam's eyes.

Shit shit shit.

Hurriedly, Dean said, "I didn't even talk to him, Sammy. He left a message. You know how he can do that, look-" Dean took out his phone and showed Sam the icon on his phone that showed a big number 1. "That means one person called me and I missed it."

"Can I hear the message."

Yeah, right, like he was gonna let Sammy listen to some panicked message of John's that was crawling with EVP.

"Maybe later, Sammy," he said.

It was a long time of Sam staring at the table and breaking hashbrowns into pieces, getting grease all over his hands, before he asked quietly, "What are we gonna do there?"

"Stuff. We'll probably go to the library a lot. You like that, huh, Sammy? Maybe you'll meet a cute girl during storytime," Dean gently kicked Sam under the table, wiggled his eyebrows, but it did nothing to perk Sam up.

"I don't wanna go to the li-berry," he muttered under his breath.

Dean squinted at his little brother. "Where?"

"The li-berry," Sam repeated huffily. His lower lip was sticking out. Sam was upset. "I _don't _wanna go, Dean."

"You mean the library, Sammy."

"That's what I said, stupid."

"Don't call me stupid, stupid," Dean said vaguely.

Sam muttered something like, "I'll call you whatever you want" and normally that kind of sass coming from his kid brother wouldn't sail with Dean but he was distracted.

Sam had known how to say library practically since he could talk. He spent enough time in them, after all.

It was probably nothing, but Dean wasn't exactly used to playing things off as nothing.

It's just weird, he told himself. It's nothing except weird.

But he'd be keeping an eye on it, nonetheless.

* * *

><p><em>Review, pretty please? :)<em>


	5. Chapter 5

__Okay so I'm sorry for again being so long but THANK YOU SO MUCH! to all of you who have reviewed, alerted, and favorite! You give me so many smiles. Once again I've got a shorty here with not too much new stuff but something's better than nothing, huh? I hope :( I'm resolved to update more frequently. They might be short like this, but with less wait in between!  
><em>_

__Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.  
><em>_

* * *

><p>"Jericho, California."<p>

__Kick. Kick kick. Ki_  
><em>

"Jericho, California."

_Kick. Kick kick. Kickkickickkick._

"The County Morgue."

_Kick. Kick kick. _

"That's 555-71-"

_Kickkickickkickick. _"Back in black, my hippo's sad, a bitter gnome I'm glad to be back."

"Uh, one sec. Sam," Dean hissed over the back seat.

Sam stopped his _wonderful _interpretation of Back in Black to wrinkle an annoyed forehead at his big brother. "Uh, yeah?"

"Shut up!" Dean continued to glare at an eyerolling Sammy. "I'm so sorry, what was that number again?"

Dean rifled around in the glove box for a pen. "555-7149, yeah? 7149," Dean muttered under his breath. "Thank you so much."

Dean ended the call, quickly typing the numbers in. "'My hippo's sad', really, Sam?"

Sam flung his arms over the back of Dean's seat. "That's what it says, Dean!"

"That doesn't even make sense. And something about a gnome? And … I don't know if this is the right number. Crap. I can't remember." Dean stared at the tiny backlit screen thoughtfully.

"555-7149," Sam recited quickly. "Dean, it does say that, I heard it. What else could it say?"

"That's the number. You're sure?" It matched what Dean had typed in.

"Yeah, duh. But Dean-"

"You've got some freaky head, kid. Now quiet. You can't say a word while I'm on the phone and I mean it."

Sam fell back, crossing his arms with a huff. Dean smirked at him and ruffled his hair (earning a tiny smile that Sam tried to wipe off with the back of his hand) but still held up a finger to his lips as a reminder.

"Yes, hello. I'm just calling because well ... I was just calling to make sure you don't have anyone named John there by any chance." Dean's heart thumped in his chest as the person on the other end questioned him. "No … yeah, that's what I mean … uh, yeah. He's got dark brown hair, a beard probably , brown eyes. He's 6'2" … No, no one like that all? Oh thank God. Thank you. No, I don't want to file a missing person's report. Thank you. Yes, thank you. Bye."

Dean snapped the phone shut and grinned a grin of relief. "Alright, Sammy, onward we march."

The Impala roared back to life as Dean pulled onto the road.

"Dean, why were you asking about Daddy?"

A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed a troubled looking Sam.

"Well, I just wanted to check and see if he was at a certain motel. He wasn't though. Don't worry about it, Sam, huh? Hey," Dean said, voice suddenly much brighter than before. "Hey, Sammy, I just remembered that I got you something in that last place we stopped. In the bag on the floor …"

Sam lay himself flat on the seat and reached for a white plastic bag. He rifled through it, surfacing with his prize a moment later.

"Mad Libs, Sammy, you'll love it. It's all words. I'll teach you how to play and we can play while I drive."

Sam shoved the pages back one by one, eyes wide. "Wow," he whispered. "Wow Dean, the words are big."

"Yeah, but that's okay 'cause you're so smart, Sammy. You'll get it."

Dean was extolling the virtues of Mad Libs, reliving one particular game of Mad Libs past in which Dean had filled a game in himself, only for John to find a page full of bad word (and then backtracking, trying to ignore Sam's sly questions on which bad words those were, exactly) when he they came to a bridge where two police cars were parked. Dean pulled over.

For a few moments he stared and Sam was mercifully silent as he decided what to do. Then he turned to his brother.

"Sam, I'm gonna talk to those policemen for a minute, alright? I'll be right back. If anyone tries to talk to you, remember, no talking to strangers. Even if it's the policemen. If they ask, you can show how old you are. That's it, okay, kiddo?"

Sam recognized orders, even if Dean didn't follow them with, "that's an order" as John always did. But Dean talked nice and Sammy liked that. So he nodded his head. "Yeah, Dean. I got it."

"You're great, kid, great." Dean smiled and held up a finger again. "Now shh."

Sam smiled and mimicked his brother.

Dean strode towards the scene where the men were talking.

One said, "How's Amy doin'?"

The other, "She's putting up posters downtown."

Dean said, "You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?"

The officers stared. "And who are you?"

Dean flashed his badge. "Federal marshal."

The officer who questioned Dean continued to stare skeptically. "A little young for a marshal, don't you think?"

Dean chuckled. "That's awfully kind, thank you."

The second officer jerked a chin in the direction of the Impala. "And what's with the kid?"

You could just make out the side of Sam's fuzzy head in the back window.

Dean flashed his most winning smile. "Bring your child to work day. It's kind of an office thing." He waved a hand dismissively. "But on to business."

* * *

><p><em>Lame, lame, lame. I know. My apologies!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm back!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.  
><em>

* * *

><p>The day proceeded- Sam coloring on a placement two booths away in a diner while Dean spoke to some girls about what was happening in Jericho. Guys gone missing. A phantom hitchhiker. Then, the library- Sammy sitting with a stack of books on the floor while Dean scoured the internet.<p>

At the library, Sam started to get tired of being ignored.

He huffed heavy little, hair blowing breathes into _Where the Wild Things Are_ several times. Dean didn't notice.

Sam wanted to speak up- no, he wanted to _yell up_ at his big brother who hadn't even _looked _at him in at least five hours. Normally Dean was fun at the library. Dean liked to play spies in the stacks. Dean taught Sam how to be "light on his feet"; Sam was little, but Dean knew how to be much much quieter, even in his big boots. Usually there wasn't much spying to do except watching people they didn't know and making up things those people weren't really saying but sometimes they would spy on Dad and that was Sam's favorite game. They'd creep around the shelves and Dean might use the blank screen of his cellphone as a mirror to see around the corners. Dean would hitch Sammy up in his arms so Sam could peep above the novels and report down to Dean what Dad appeared to be doing.

"He's just starin' at the 'puter, Dean," Sam would whisper-oh-so-not-quietly-at-all.

"Shh, Sammy," Dean would remind gently. "But no kiddin', I know that's what he's doing. What's he doing with his hands?"

One time the question had led Sam's response of:

"Typin', Dean, typin' and typin' and typin' and ty-oh! He's scratching his nose." Sam giggled. "Oh man, Dean, Daddy is itching like crazy." John sneezed and reflexively Sam responded with a clear, polite, "Godbleshoo, Daddy."

John's head shot up and his eyes sought out his youngest son. Sam tried to dive out of Dean's arms and nearly did except Dean had managed to grab him around the knees and saved him from a broken neck.

"What was that about?" Dean whispered. Sam opened his mouth but Dean hushed him, much to Sam's irritation. Dean took the quickest glance over the books, quickly hunched back down to Sam's level. "Your manners have compromised our position, Sammy."

"Have compro-what?"

Again Dean shushed him. "We're gonna follow this wall and circle around to the magazine rack."

Sam followed Dean on tiptoe. When they made it to their destination, Dean quickly passed Sam a magazine. Sam looked to Dean and quickly mimicked Dean's position of holding the magazine directly in front of his face.

"He'll never see us, Sammy," Dean whispered from behind the glossy baracade. "Just pretend like you're reading." And Dean turned back the pages. Really he was looking sideways at John but Sam didn't know how to read very well, never mind pretend to read, so he was staring at the page hard wondering if that counted as pretending.

Then he giggled.

And giggled again.

"Dean, there are all these whale guys in here. They're smiling, Dean."

Sam was practically busting a gut over a set of manatee pictures and damned if Dean wasn't, too.

"Shh, Sammy," he kept whispering. And Sam would quiet down but then Dean would chuckle and say, "He's asking where the gym in, his arms bent like that."

After awhile they forgot they were spying. That is, until suddenly a rumbling voice said, "You gettin' anything from that National Georgraphic, Deano?"

Both boys dropped their magazines immediately but in the next moment Sam had scrambled to the floor to recover his. Quickly he found the page with the Manatees and Sammy held it up to John.

"We got the giggles, Daddy!" he cried loudly, forgetting about the library's code of silence.

And another rumble had tumbled out of John's mouth in the form of a cracked grin and a slew of chuckles.

Or, as Sam would have said, giggles.

* * *

><p>Well, that had been a few weeks ago now and Dean had turned down as suggestions of spying hours ago. Sam was bored, "b-o-r-d bored," he spelled in his head. And Dean didn't care at all. So of course Sam wanted to yell but Sam knew the rules and rules are orders. So yes, no yelling in the library.<p>

For a change of scenery, this time Sam huffed into _The Elephant's Child._

Dean was going just as crazy as Sam was and was being nearly as huffy, though Sam didn't notice just as Dean didn't notice him. Every other moment was spent bemoaning how slow research was without dad. He did it pretty often, sure, but that didn't make it any better.

After two and a half hours, he got it.

Dean's lips moved as he read: _Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch_.

Just as his eyes fell on the accompanying photo, Sam appeared at his side and said, "That's the bridge we were at today."

Dean tugged Sam onto his lap. Sam leaned back, his head at Dean's collar, and took each of his brother's hands in his own, relishing in the sudden attention.

"You're right, Sammy."

Sam beamed up at him.

"Smartypants, Sammy, huh?"

Dean flicked his wrists so Sam's hands were now in his and he faked that Sam was boxing someone, sound effects and all. "Pow, pow, he knocks 'em down with his freaky geek brain."

"'M not a freak, Dean, daddy says that's not nice …"

"Are, too, the freakiest geek of 'em all." Dean wrapped his arms tight around his brother in the kind of all-encompassing hug that Sammy lived for. "But what's important is that you're my freaky geek, 'kay?"

"Kay, Dean."

Dean buried his face in Sam's hair, finally relaxing after all the research. "Grrawrrr," he growled, his breath tickling Sam's neck. "Man, I could use a snack."

On cue, Sam's stomach rumbled.

"I take that as you seconding the motion. Alrighty," Dean said as he stood up, putting Sam gently to his feet on the floor. "But first, we have one stop."

Dean wouldn't be sure later if he wasn't thinking straight because he was hungry or if it was from staring at the computer so long. Whether it was either or neither reason, Dean did what he did, and that was putting Sam in the backseat and driving back to the Sylvania Bridge, where Constance Welch took her life and the lives of others.

_Reviews, please? :) And I just thought I'd ask but if anyone wants to do some fanart for this, I'd love you infinitely.  
><em>


	7. Chapter 7

_Back, back! And this was an emotional one, folks. Does it make you emotional? Do you like it? How's the writing? AHH!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Dean tugged the Impala off the side of the road before the bridge. Peering over the back of his seat he said, "Alright, Sammy, stay in the car."<p>

"I don't _wanna_ stay in the _car, _I _wanna _go with you," Sam whined.

It was late. It was dark. Dean was tired. He rubbed his eyes and replied calmly, "I'll be right back, Sam, I swear. Just chill out here for two seconds, listen to some tunes, and then we can go get some pie."

Sam's hands balled into fists and shit, man, Dean knew was coming. Hurricane Sam.

"NO, I don't WANNA," Sam screeched. He kicked the back of the seat hard.

"Sam," Dean growled. "Cut it out now. Do not-"

Sam-flailing commenced. The red-faced, furious Sam flailing that always made Dean want to fling holy water at the kid while chanting some Latin. But no, that would be too easy. This was just Sam throwing a horrendous Sammy fit.

It was feet slamming into the seat and attacking the window crank. Unluckily for Sam, it took all of fifteen seconds for Dean to yank open the backseat door and pin his arms to his sides.

"Stop!" Dean shouted, giving him a little shake. "I'm doing this so we can find Dad! You miss him, don't you Sam? You're cryin' 'bout Daddy every night and I try and find him and you go and act like a psycho!"

Sam scrunched up his eyes, tears falling from the corners. "No!" He leaned away from Dean but his brother held him tight. "You're hurting me!"

"If Dad was here, he'd bust your butt, do you want me to do that, Sammy, huh? Because so help me God, I will, you keep pulling this shit. You cut it right now-"

"Fine!" Sam screamed into Dean's face. "Let me go, you stupid! Let me go!"

With a wretched jerk, Sam untangled himself from Dean's strong hands and flung himself into the corner farthest from his brother.

"You're in trouble, boy," Dean growled. "Just you wait."

Sam buried his head in his knees and screeched. Ignoring it, Dean slammed the door shut and yanked the keys out of the ignition. Sam didn't know how to drive, but Dean felt better knowing that the kid couldn't even try it out of spite in his short absence.

Dean was fuming as he walked along the bridge.

Yeah, Sammy was five. Yeah, five year olds throw fits. But dammit, the kid ought to know better. If John had been around for that, Sam would've been over his knee the second he started screaming. That is, if Dad hadn't already given him a smack on the face.

Dean cringed at the idea of disciplining the kid. John expected it from Dean when he was gone but John didn't know Sam like he did. He didn't realize that when Sammy realized that he did something bad, that was punishment enough for the kid. Dean had to leave when Dad swatted Sam; Dean had to get as far away from those anguished sobs (where Sam cried, "Dee, help! Help!") He knew it didn't hurt Sammy. Much.

But man, did it hurt him.

Dean peered over the bridge and felt his heart harden at the memories. _And where the hell is Dad now?_ He wondered angrily. Because that's what this was all about. Sure, Sam had been upset about John being gone, but they were in one place. They had a home(tel) and the damn zoo. Right now, Sam was tired. Sam was hungry. Sam was frigging five years old.

Dean sighed; it didn't appear that he was gonna find any of … well, anything. Here at the bridge. Constance Welch could wait. Sam, on the other hand, Dean didn't want to keep him waiting any longer.

Heading back towards the car, Dean's brow furrowed. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry at Sam at the moment, but he was annoyed to see that his brother had turned the headlights on. Sam knew better than to play around near the wheel.

With that thought, the engine revved and Dean's heart jumped; what the hell was Sammy gonna do, drive away? Damn kid was never gonna touch a set of keys again until

Dean's hand went into his pocket. Sweat popped up as his fingers grazed the cold metal of the ignition key.

"_DEAN!" _

The Impala rocketed forward.

There was no logic, no reasoning, no chance to decide what was best to do.

"_SAM!"_

There was only pounding of his heart, the call of his brother, and then the impact from diving onto the hood.

Minutes, years, or moments later, the car stopped on the other end of the bridge.

Gasping for air, Dean rolled off the car and struggled with the door handle. Sam was all over him, sobbing. His hands gripped Dean's neck tight and Dean hugged him hard, shutting his eyes tight against the tears he couldn't fight.

He thought Sam was dead. God, he was so sure that Sam was going to be dead.

But his little brother was so very much alive, gasping loudly in his ear and digging into his ribs with his knees.

"Shhh," Dean soothed shakily. It felt like there was a bounder in his throat. Dean's knees wobbled as he leaned against the bridge. "I gotcha Sammy, I gotcha. Dean's gotcha."

Dean clutched Sam tighter, sure his little body was the only thing keeping his heart in his chest.

Sam sobbed something that sounded like words.

"What buddy, what is, kiddo?" Dean scrambled for words, the words to make it better. "It's okay now. S'okay, don't cry, huh? Don't cry, please."

Sam took a heaving breath. Hot tears soaking Dean's neck, Dean felt Sam's mouth move and heard the wibbly words.

"I d-didn't wanna stay in the car," he bawled.

Dean's knees gave out.

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><p><em>Oh, poor boys :( Review please?<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Gosh, so this is super short but I'm feeling kind of bad right now and I'm leaving for New Jersey tomorrow so I just don't have time to write more. Just trying to keep this story active though! I won't promise, but I'm hoping to have another chapter up by Tuesday or Wednesday._

* * *

><p>Dean didn't know how he managed not to throw up on the drive back to the motel.<p>

His hands were sweating, his stomach was sick. Never before had he had any reason to not trust his baby, but he was fearful (and angry) now.

"P-please," Sammy was crying the whole way back, trying to fight his way into Dean's lap. "Dee."

Dean wished he could let him. But as scared as Sammy was, Sam was just too big. So he drove one handed, his right arm tugging his shaking little brother tight.

Dean couldn't speak at that point, not even to comfort Sam. He'd puke out his guts for sure if he did. For sure.

He just kept thinking of how dumb he was to have brought Sammy. What kind of idiotic brings a kid that's half a baby to a hunt?

_A fucking dumbass_, Dean thought to himself. His throat tightened as Sam heaved another sob. Sam didn't stop at the one sob, however, though, but went into another frenzy similar to the one he had on the bridge. Dean sped up towards the glow of the motel sign and jerked into a spot.

"Sammy," Dean said soothingly, pulling Sam into his arms. "Stop, kiddo, stop. We're home now. We're safe."

Sam opened his mouth but no words came out. Sam's face scrunched up and he cried harder. Finally he managed a hoarse, "_D'n_," clutching wildly at his throat.

There was another sick pang in Dean's stomach.

"You've cried yourself hoarse, kiddo," he said sadly. "You cried so hard you hurt your throat. And it's all my fault," he added in a whisper.

Dean walked back to the room briskly, one hand cupping the back of Sammy's head, as he tried to no avail to get the kid to stop crying.

Feeling spooked for Sammy, he quickly turned on every light in the room.

_Now what?_ Dean wondered, feeling at more of a loss for what to do than he ever had in his life. Grasping at straws he murmured, "You need a bath, Sammy, that's what you need. A nice warm bath."

Sam sat in the tub listless, tears streaming down his face, neck and chest, into the not-hot-enough motel water.

Dean soaped Sam's hair, trying to hum and failing miserably for the rock in his throat.

Before Sam's fingers had even turned pruny, Dean helped him out of the tub and into his pajamas. As Dean sat on the edge of the tub, Sam facing him and adjusted the drooping collar of one of his own white T-shirts that went down past Sammy's knees, he could see it in Sam's eyes.

The fear. The confusion. The I-was-with-Dean-and-something-scary-happened hurt.

Tears rose in Dean's eyes.

Because it was all too fucking soon.


	9. Chapter 9

_Another short chapter but I'm exhausted from work and a victim of a short-attention spanned generation, sadly :/ _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural._

* * *

><p>Dean fell asleep in the dark motel room, Sam clutched close to his chest as Law and Order (not near close enough to 21 Jump Street) blared through the room. Things were bad and sad and blue and grey on screen as Dean whispered into Sam's damp hair, over and over, "I'm sorry, Sammy. So sorry."<p>

He fell asleep in an old recliner, his arms around Sam and his hand stroking the back of the kid's sweaty neck. Sam's tiny heart fluttered against his.

Dean woke up to Sam's little, cool fingers on the side of his face.

"S'my?"

"S'okay, Dean," Sam whispered. "I love you, Dean."

Sam locked eyes with his big brother and for a moment, he seemed to wait. Then he nodded and gave Dean one last pat on his scruffy cheek and the tiniest of smiles.

Sam laid his head on Dean's chest and fell back asleep.

The next morning when Dean went down to the front desk to pay for another night, the guy waved him off.

"Just glad to see that the little one is doing better. I didn't want to stress you too much last night but I didn't charge you then either. I know what it's like to be a single dad; when business is good, might as well get my karma up, right?"

Dean was at a loss. He raised his eyebrows at Sam who simply shrugged. When he looked back up at the clerk, he managed a grateful smile. "Well, thank you much." He waved his offered credit card in the air before pocketing it.

"Hey," the clerk said suddenly, his eyes bright behind his glasses. "That name on the card- I've got another Aframian staying here, too. Ya know him, maybe: Burt Aframian?"

Sam knew the moment they walked through the door. Breathless with knowing and hope he said, "Daddy was here."

The photos, clippings, and print-outs pinned to the walls were things that Sam was accustomed to. It was like a kind of constant wherever they went, a décor that never changed even if this motel's theme was woodland creatures or that one was Americana. A constant like Dean and salt lines, both of which were present in the room.

Dean eyed a toxic looking burger. "But not for a few days now."

Dean pointedly avoided looking at Sam for fear of the crestfallen look on his face. Quickly, he scanned John's research before coming to his conclusion.

"I've figured out what Dad was doing, Sammy," Dean said as cheerfully as he good. Any news is good news, right?

Sam rubbed the toe of his sneaker in a salt line, grinding the white into the filthy carpet. "What?" he said, not looking up.

"I'll tell you later, I promise. But right now, you need a babysitter."

Sam couldn't have looked more horrified than if Dean had actually told him about Constance Welch, the woman who had murdered her own children and how Dean was now off to burn her bones.


	10. Chapter 10

_As always, so sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy this one!_

* * *

><p>The two brothers stood on the damp walkway of a simple cape house, Sam in Dean's arms.<p>

"But Dean-" Sam was all panicked whispers and shifty eyes as Dean tried to pry the kid's vice grip away from his neck. He couldn't believe that his brother was going to leave him with some strange person. Someone they didn't even know! Sam didn't even know her name; she could be a killer zombie for all he knew.

"No 'buts', Sammy, you gotta stay here while I finish up dad's work," Dean said. Gently he massaged Sam's thumb joint, working his way under Sam's fingers until finally he managed to unclasp Sam's sweaty hands. Firmly he placed Sam on the cement walk with the full intention of going up and ringing the doorbell but Dean found he was going to have no such luck. Uncut fingernails dug into his forearms (Dean always teased Sam for having such girly nails that grew so fast but he frowns at that he hasn't thought to cut them lately and makes a mental note to do it asap, as soon as he finishes this job) and Dean could see the threat of tears. And in that moment Dean was exhausted.

"Don't you dare cry, Sammy. If you cry I'm gonna be so …" Dean trailed off, unsure of what he was going to be if Sam cried. Mad? Sad? He wasn't sure. "I'm not gonna be happy, Sam. Not at all. I'm gonna …" Dean trailed off, suddenly noticing what his brother was doing.

Sam had started blinking rapidly and when a tear slipped down the side of his nose, he quickly let go of Dean's arms and shoved his fists to his eyes. Voice choked he said, "I won't cry, Dean. I promise. I promise, okay? You can be happy."

But Dean could see the tears slipping down Sam's cheeks and curving under his chin.

His stomach churned.

Dean crouched beside Sam and tenderly took Sam's hands away from his eyes.

"Sammy, it's okay. Hey, kiddo, look at me."

Sam turned big watery eyes on his brother, sniffing loudly.

"I'm not mad," Dean said.

"Are you happy?" Sam asked in a quivery voice.

Dean looked at the ground from a moment, rubbing a soothing hand on Sam's back, before looking up and smiling. "You always know how to make me happy, Sammy. Better than anyone in the whole world."

Sam smiled wanly. "I do?"

Dean nodded and his smiled expanded to a grin. "Sure do! And what would make me real happy right now is if you'd stay here with this nice lady for just a little while, just a little while, till I can come back and get you."

Sam shuffled closer to his brother, nestling himself in the bend between Dean's arm and chest. He looked up at the house (something he'd been in so few of) and it looked small to him, compared to the sprawl of a motel or the height of an apartment. Maybe not so scary. "I think I can do that," Sam said softly.

Dean jostled Sam in a half hug. "I know you can. C'mon."

Dean let Sam ring the doorbell and moments later the red front door was answered by a tall girl in her mid-twenties. She had cookies in the oven, a entertainment system full of movies, and a backyard with a tire swing. Sam thought perhaps this was going to be a great time after all, until he noticed Dean heading for the door. He raced toward his brother, the panic clear on his face.

"No!" Sam cried. "No go! No go!"

Dean frowned at his brother's baby talk. "Sammy, Sammy shh. Calm down.

Wait here one second. Just _wait."_

Dean rushed out to the Impala and came back seconds later.

"Here," he said to Sam, placing the small object he had retrieved into Sam's hand. "Now you know I'll be back."

Sam watched his brother's retreating form from the open door way and clutched his hand around the cassette tape recording of _Led Zeppelin II._

"Dean!"

Sam came flying down the hallway and ran full force into Dean's stomach. Dean flung him in the air. "Sammyboy!"

Sam giggled and so did the babysitter, Marissa. She leaned in the doorway, looking only slightly exhausted.

"Did he wear you out?" Dean asked.

She smiled, teeth white and bright and her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Only a little. He was pretty quiet until I broke out the cookies and milk and a Ghostbusters marathon." She laughed loudly here, ruffling Sam's hair. "Kid sure has some imagination and _a lot _to say about the true qualities of ectoplasm."

Dean mocked looking taken aback. "Does he now?"

Sam flushed red and buried his head in Dean's neck.

"Ohhh," Marissa grimaced. "Sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of a non-believer. But hey, could you do me a favor and go grab those cookies we saved for Dean?"

Sam wriggled out of Dean's arms and ran to go do so.

Dean laughed fondly. "Man …"

Marissa said, "He's a really smart kid. I didn't know what to expect when you left and he wasn't formulating sentences but … has Sam ever done that before? Reverted to baby-talk? For some kids, stress can bring that on and it can sometimes be hard to break."

Dean gaped. "Uhhh, yeah. Yeah he has done it a few times recently, now that you mention it. Our dad's been away on business for awhile and well … thanks for letting me know, I appreciate it. I'll keep an eye." He shook Marissa's hand. "And really, thanks again for watching him on such short notice. I was expecting the worst and turns there could've hardly been anyone better."

Marissa shook her head. "Nah, thank you …"

"No, really," Dean insisted. "I can tell Sam liked you. He would've been fifty different kind of pouting when I got back if he hadn't. Would you mind doing it again tomorrow?"

Sam perked up at that. "I get to come back?" he looked at his new babysitter hopefully.

She pretended to consider it. Then said, "Well …. Do you remember our secret handshake?"

Sam acted out a series of clumsy gestures that ended in the holstering of a forefinger gun.

Marissa nodded. "You're cool to come back."

Sam beamed.

"And Dean, she has a dog! A little dog named Deefer that lives in the backyard because the person who owns the house won't let her let him live inside. And she had the crayon box with 100 crayons which is probably all the colors in the world and we drew pictures of- OH!"

There was the creak of springs in the dark room.

"Stay in bed," Dean growled into his pillow.

Sam flopped back.

"Well, Dean, I drew a picture of you and me and it was really good. Well, pretty good I think. She's pretty, isn't she, Dean? Do you know how old she is? Maybe you could marry her and the Deefer could be our dog, too."

"Yeah, I'll ask her tomorrow."

"Awesome!"

"Not awesome, I'm not really gonna- Sammy, go to sleep. It's like four million o'clock at night."

Sam noisily shifted forty different ways on his bed, trying to get comfortable, making Dean roll his shut eyes. Then Sam was quiet for awhile and Dean thought maybe Sam was asleep when-

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah, Sammy."

"I like Marissa a lot."

"I couldn't tell," Dean mumbled sarcastically, just wishing the kid would conk out.

"But I like you best," Sam whispered.

Dean smiled and shut his eyes. "Go to sleep, Sammy."

Sam had bad dreams that night, worse dreams than he'd ever had in his life. He woke up that morning, sobbing into Dean's chest as Dean, _his Dean_, cradled him and shushed him. Sam wanted to tell him and tried to tell Dean but the words got so tangled in his sobs he couldn't. There was something he wanted to explain but he just _couldn't._ He didn't know _what _ he wanted to explain. And Dean just kept saying, "Shh, Sammy. Shh. It's not real. None of it's real."

Eventually by afternoon (though it looked night by the thick curtains of the motel), Sam fell asleep.

He didn't wake once, not even when Dean dropped him off at Marissa's for the day.

Dean had no idea that when Sammy woke up, that he would wake up screaming.

Dean had no idea that when Sammy woke up, that he would wake up screaming, because his babysitter was pinned to the ceiling in flames.

* * *

><p><em>review, please? :)<em>


	11. Chapter 11

I don't know how I feel about this chapter or even how long I plan to keep this story going. I think perhaps until the boys find John, but who knows. I'm a terrible updater so I can hardly look past the next chapter.

* * *

><p>Sam was lying in the middle of Marissa's big bed, eyes full of flames and yet his body was frozen as he stared up at this lovely girl he had only just met, this girl he had wanted Dean to marry because she had pretty blonde hair and a dog named Deefer.<p>

Sam screamed.

Sam screamed and screamed, screamed, "Marissa, help, Marissa, help!" Even though she was the one pinned to the ceiling with her blood spilling out of her her and onto Sam's face, stinging his eyes. Marissa's mouth was open, wanting to perhaps tell Sam to run, perhaps wanting to beg _him_ to help _her_ but no words would come out. There was life still in her eyes but Marissa was already dead. Suddenly the flames grew wider and engulfed the babysitter, like a monster swallowing its prey in one bite. Sam slid off the side of the bed, sobbing no longer for his babysitter. She was gone. Forever. Sam curled into a ball, feeling the heat and sweating.

He remembered that his mom died in a fire.

He had been there then, too.

He had been in his crib when-

"SAM!"

Strong arms gripped Sam's entire body and before Sam knew it, he was gone from the room, gone from the house entirely.

This time, Dean made the street without the help of his father before the glass from the windows exploded.

The EMTs kept insisting that Sam ought to go to the hospital. Over the past four and a half years, Dean had become uncomfortable such ideas.

One paramedic, a stocky kind of guy who looked like maybe he played hockey in his spare time (he had the whole kind eyes, broken nose thing going on), put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean jumped and looked at the guy with suspicision. The paramedic said calmly, "I'd hate to see anything happen to the kid. You love the kid, so you feel the same. I think that's why you don't want him to go. But smoke inhalation in kids can be pretty serious."

So they went, albeit in the Impala (there was no comment about the lack of seatbelts). Sam was quiet. He sniffled. He coughed. However, it seemed to Dean that Sam was done with the crying. Just as he had quieted the night Constance Welch took the car for a joyride with Sammy still in the front seat, Sam was quiet for hours. They were in the hospital, a nurse having just cleared away a breathing treatment, and Dean, speaking soft, sweet words, was in the middle of yet another, "We'll be home soon, Sammy" when Sam whispered, "Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Marissa dead?"

Dean bit his lip, stared hard at glass-encased defibrillator . "Yeah, Sammy."

"Like mommy."

Dean cleared his throat before saying hoarsely, "Looks like, Sammyboy."

Sam's skinny legs, which had been dangling over the exam table, were drawn up to his chest with a deafening crackle of paper. His lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Dean jumped up from his chair and threw an arm around his little brother.

"Sammy, it's okay." Looking down at Sam, Dean tried to smile. "It's okay now. We're gonna get away from here. Go home and sleep tonight. Hey, maybe we'll drive to Disneyland tomorrow, yeah, Sam? Betcha all those princess chicks will call ya charming."

Dean saw, there was a split-second where Sam tried to smile back, tried so hard. But the second he tried he crumbled.

There were so many things Sam wanted to say but couldn't. Finally he gasped out, "Fire, Dean."

Dean picked up his baby brother and cradled in his arms. "Don't be. I'm gonna kill the monster, Sammy. Don't you worry. I'm gonna kill the monster."

And Sam tried to tell Dean about his bad dreams but Dean hushed him and shushed him, and Sam didn't try talking anymore.

Dean didn't sleep well. For a long time he had laid awake in the darkness of the motel, one arm thrown around Sam's little body. Sam snored when he slept. He wasn't snoring.

"Sammy, you have to sleep," Dean whispered gruffly. Sam shifted on the itchy blanket cream colored blanket, clutching the corner of it in his fist.

Dean drifted in and out. At one point, around 2 AM, there was still no snoring but rather the deep and slow breathing of sleep. Dean smoothed Sam's hair and flopped back on the pillow, instantly out.

But at 6 AM he woke again.

"Your friends will be there when your back is to the wall. "You'll find you'll need us cause there's no one else to call …"

Dean groaned, squinting through the slanted light coming through the thin curtains.

Sam was on the floor, his face hardly a foot from the television.

"Sammy?"

Sam turned and grimaced contritely before turning back to 21 Jump Street.

"Why the frig is that on this early?" was the only thing Dean could think to say. What was he supposed to say?

Dean settled down next to Sam, who looked up for only a moment before looking back to the show. "You're awful quiet, Sammy."

Sam frowned before pointing at the screen irritably.

"Do you wanna talk about last night?" Dean said gently.

Sam stared stone-faced at the screen.

"We won't," Dean said immediately. But a few moments later, he realized the implication of such a statement to someone Sam's age. "Not now, anyway … Sam? Sammy, just say something. Say okay."

But Sam just kept staring at the television.

Sam wouldn't say a damn word.


	12. Chapter 12

So I have a feeling this has a million errors but I'm not that worried about that right now. What I really want to say is THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I can't believe how much support I've gotten for this story. It really means so, so much to mean.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

_Sam had never been to a funeral. Hunters' bodies were burned and while John would suffer through the memories for the sake of a fallen friend, he never made Dean._

_ "My apologies that Dean can't be here," John would murumur with downcast eyes as he clasped the hand of a weeping widow at the side of a funeral pyre. "He's staying home with Sammy."_

_ Those people were always too distraught to think much of it, but it made sense. Sam was young. No child needed to see a body burn. _

_ Once, though, a member of Pastor Jim's parish had died while Sam was visiting._

_ "I need to go see a member of my flock, Sammy. Talk one last time," he had said, helping Sam into a rocking chair on the deceased's porch and handing Sam a book._

_ "But they're dead," Sam had frowned. He thought of dead squirrels on the side of the road, motionless, wrecked animals that Dean said they couldn't help because they'd gone somewhere else._

_ Pastor Jim had smoothed Sam's hair and smiled sadly. "I just need to go tuck them in, Sammy, tuck them so they can rest."_

_ So that's what Sam figured happened when people died. You talked to them, even if they couldn't hear you (maybe it took a long time to get where they were going, Sam always thought. Maybe they were still packing before you tucked them in.)_

_ Marissa had her back turned to Sam. She was slowly piling clothes into a small suitcase. The edge of her shirt was singed and it made Sam's eyes sting._

"_Marissa, I'm sorry," he whispered._

_Marissa held a sweater thoughtfully, as though she was wondering if it was still in fashion. _

"_Really, really sorry," he said a little louder, his voice catching on all that sorry in his throat._

_Marissa's shirt sparked and Sam saw a flame flicker forth on the fabric. It crawled up her spine. Sam's eyes went wide with terror._

_Sam shuddered as he said, "M-maybe it's time for you to go Marissa. I could tuck you in. Or I could get Dean. Or Pastor Jim, maybe. Maybe-" Sam held out a little, shaking hand, wanting to help, and took a step forward. Just then, Marissa's whole body went up in flames and she whirled on Sam._

"_You could've saved me, Sam," she hissed. There were flames in her eyes. Sam stumbled backwards with a cry. "I'm sorry, I d-didn't know! I thought it was a n-nightmare!"_

_Marissa came closer and closer and Sam could feel the heat and then strangely, the flame went from her eyes and faded to yellow and though it should have made Sam less frightened it didn't. A gravelly voice Sam did not recognize said, "This is no nightmare, Sam."_

_Sam screamed._

"Sammy!"

Sam jerked up in the backseat, pulling in a dry heave of a breath.

"You okay, kiddo?" Dean said, his concern evident. Ever since John left, Dean had never seemed to stop worrying about Sam. Now though … "Seems like you were having a nightmare."

Sam crawled over the backseat, something most people would freak out about but a habit Sam has had since he began this nomadic life, and he stared blankly out the window. Dean hated it. He thinks back to the weeks before and how he couldn't get Sam to shut up if his life depended on it and how welcome a quiet Sam would have seemed at the time. But Dean knew that this was not okay. Sam was tired. Sam was scared. Sam hadn't spoken for a full week.

Dean observed for a moment the long, wooded road and assured himself that he had not seen any cars in quite some time. "Hey, Sammy," he said. He paused, as he always had before, hoping desperately to hear that response of "Yeah, Dean?" he had always taken for granted. He swallowed the swell of sadness the silence brought and continued with a sly question. "Wanna drive?"

Sam lifted his head over so slightly, just a glimmer of curiosity. Dean could work with it.

In a moment Sam was on his lap "driving", his little hands on top of Dean's.

"We're almost there, Sam," Dean said. He continued to chat with himself. "Dad sent me coordinates. Remember how I showed you to find things on a map? Well, Dad sent me a spot on a map called Black Water Ridge. I'm gonna do some work here, I think. Maybe help some people. Because that's what we try to do, Sammy. We try to help people as much as we can. It makes me real sad that you're not letting me help you, you know."

Sam's hands tightened on the wheel and his brow furrowed, focused on a sign that was coming into focus. It was the first sign that has cropped up in a long time. Sam pointed. Dean sighed and said, ""Welcome to Lost Creek National Forest."

Coming to a new town with Sam had used to be kind of fun. Sam would get excited about all the new sights, would eat his supper to earn a chocolate milkshake and a quarter if there was an establishment with a jukebox to be found (and Dean always seemed to be able to find one, John always grinned), would say, "Hi, I'm Sam!" to every other small child he passed on the street before John barked at him not to talk to strangers. When he got older, Dean knew, "stranger danger" would morph to "keeping a low profile" but Sammy was always so friendly, Dean couldn't imagine his little brother managing it.

But it was all boring now. Driving was boring. The day they arrived in Lost Creek was just one long string of dragging a silent Sam from the Ranger station to the home of a girl whose brother had gone missing at Blackwater Ridge to some dive to the home of a man whose parents were mauled by a "grizzly" when he was a kid.

It was late when they finally made it to Mr. Shaw's house but Sam was fighting sleep. He refused to allow Dean to pick him up, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Dean rolled his eyes and rung the doorbell.

Dean flashed a ranger's ID and began asking questions about the attack.

"Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a-"

"Grizzly?" Dean interrupted. "That's what attacked them?"

The man smoked a cigarette as Dean pressed him with more questions.

"What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing? … if I knew what I was dealing with, I might be able to stop it."

The man frowned and shook his head. "No … no one ever believed me and … and it's the stuff of nightmares, son."

His eyes went to Sam.

And suddenly Sam felt something in the pit of his stomach, like he knew something …

"Was it fast, Mr. Shaw?" Sam whispered.

Dean whirled on his brother and gaped. "Sammy!"

Mr. Shaw nodded and said softly, "Yes, son. Very fast."

Sam chewed on his lip for a moment, then looked up at Dean with scared eyes. Then he said, "Something bad is going to happen."


	13. Chapter 13

_I really don't mean to be pulling you guys along here with these few and far between updates- I my goal was always to get to the boys finding John and end it there- but that's obviously taking me a really, really long time. But of course, no one is required to read and so if you still want to great! And thanks _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural_

* * *

><p>Dean pulled Sam out of the house by the hand. Sam struggled to keep up with Dean's long strides and tried to tug his hand out of his brother's.<p>

"What?" Dean said, stopping to Sam's relief. Sam glanced wearily from the ground to the car. It wasn't _that far_ but … "Oh, please," Dean muttered. But Sam's lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as he rolled back his shoulders, as though preparing himself for the trek. He was scooped into the warmth of Dean's strong arms. Immediately Sam felt his eyes droop as his snuggled into his brother's chest, hands burrowed in Dean's shirt at the back of his neck, hiding from the cool night air.

When they got to the Impala (Sam could smell her. She smelled stronger of gasoline than other cars.) Sam expected to hear the creak of a door but instead felt himself tugged from Dean's furnace-like heat and placed on the hood of the car. His hands reached out greedily to his brother's jacket.

"Sammy," Dean said gruffly.

Sam looked up, distracted as he tried to shove his arms into Dean's sleeve without Dean noticing. Dean stayed still for a few moments, watching Sam like they had watched the lions at the zoo ages ago, and allowed the child to settle himself, one arm sharing a sleeve with Dean and the other wrapped around his waist. Sam was desperate for sleep. A smile quirked at the corner of the little boy's lips as he rested his head against Dean's chest. He peeked through his bangs, searching Dean's face for any reaction.

Oh, Sammy.

"You back, kiddo?" Dean whispered. Then, "You talked back there. Please, Sammy. Talk to me."

Sam's fingers clenched the back of his shirt. "Dean," he breathed back.

Dean threw his free arm around Sam and hugged his brother tight. "Sammy … what happened in there? What do you mean something bad is going to happen?"

Sam extricated his arm from Dean's sleeve in order to receive a proper hug. Dean didn't disappoint. "I … I know it's bad, Dean. It wasn't a bear that killed Mr. Shaw's parents. It was something bad."

Dean rubbed Sam's back absently, searching for a response. "Yeah, I think you're right, kiddo."

Sam was so quiet, Dean feared maybe his brother had gone silent again. Or maybe just fallen asleep. But then Sam whispered, "Can you kill it?"

Dean pulled back and looked Sam full in the eye.

"I am going to try so hard, Sammy."

* * *

><p>Dean was pretty sure it must be a Black Dog or Skinwalker that was killing people out in the woods and damned if he wasn't going to lift a finger while some clueless girl went crashing through the brush.<p>

Sam wanted to know everything. What weapons Dean was going to bring, what he thought it might be.

Sam knew about monsters but hardly. Not from Dean. From John, as bedtime stories, like some toddler tactical training that made Dean grimace. Especially when Sam asked for the stories on repeat- and Sam always noticed if you changed the hero from a hunter to Batman.

But Sam was talking again, and that made Dean pleased as punch, and he'd tell the kid just about anything for fear that his refusal might shut Sammy down.

Until Dean was ready to leave and he was posed with a problem, one that was trotting around the motel room in the form of a five-year-old ready to kill some monsters.

"C'mon," Sam said impatiently, hanging on the doorknob, waiting for his brother to follow. "We gotta hurry."

"Uhh, Sammy," Dean said. He knealt down and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. "You're gonna do something real important to help me on this job, okay? You're gonna wait here in the motel and man the phone while I'm away. I already made you some sandwiches and put the cereal on the table, so you can eat breakf-"

"You're leaving me!" the hurt was so evident in Sam's voice, Dean could hardly bear it.

"Two days, max. I swear it. Don't touch the salt lines and go to bed when the Cosby Show comes on, okay? Don't open the door for anyone, not anyone at all. I'll be home tomorrow. Or the next day, but no more than that. Follow all of dad's rules-"

"No," Sam whispered defiantly.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped.

"No." Sam stomped a foot furiously and sniffed. "No, Dean, no! You're not going alone! I'm coming!"

Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders in desperation. "Sam, you listen. You stay here and follow my orders-"

"I'll follow _you._"

Ten minutes later, the both of them were on their way to Lost Creek National Forest.

Dean was a complete idiot for thinking it would be okay ( it wasn't okay it was necessary) to leave Sam alone.

But he was even dumber for bringing him.

Shit.


	14. Chapter 14

Always, apologies for lateness and errors! Probably going to try and wrap this up ASAP but who knows with me. Hope you all had some great holidays and enjoy this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

XxXxXxXxXx

"You got room for two more?"

Dean tugged the duffel over his shoulder and strode towards a group of people. It was the brother and sister of the kid who went missing and a man Dean didn't recognize.

"Wait you want to come with us?" The girl, Haley, said, her eyes flickering from Dean to Sam, her face a mix of emotions.

"Who is this?" growled the man, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

"Apparently this guy was all the park service could muster up for search and rescue."

Dean smirked and added, "Don't forget Sammy." He knocked Sam lightly on the shoulder. "Can't forget about Sammy."

"You're a ranger?" Roy asked.

"That's right!"

"And you're out hiking in biker boots and jeans ..." Haley added skeptically.

"Well sweetheart, I don't do shorts."

"What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt and you bring some _kid_ ..."Roy glared at Sam.

"Hey," Dean said in a low tone. "Believe me, I know how dangerous this could get. I just wanna help her find her brother and so I suggest we get moving."

With that, Sam and Dean set forth into the woods, Sam holding himself at full height (nearly to Dean's elbow these days) with his chest puffed out. Sam was going to show Dean that he could be a hunter but first …

"Hey, Dean?" he whispered. He glanced back over his shoulder and took an inventory of the backpacks the others were carrying, the heavy duffle on Dean's back.

Dean smiled at the familiar phrase.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Do you have anything I can carry?"

Sam got to man the flashlight.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxX

Roy did not like Dean. He glared at Sam. It was only for the sake of this Haley girl and that brother of hers that Dean didn't throw his hands up in the air, take his peanut M&Ms and Sammy by the hand and drag the kid home.

But Dean saw the fear and determination in Haley's eyes. So even when he nearly (nearly according to Roy, in Dean's opinion it wasn't even _close_) got his foot snapped off by a bear trap, his next step was a snap and crackle of leaves and twigs, forward and further into the unknown.

Dean still grabbed Sam's hand for good measure.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"It's quiet," Sam whispered when they reached Black Water Ridge, courtesy of Roy's begrudging direction. Dean listened and Sam was right. Out there in nature, truly the world should have been teeming with sounds. But there was only silence.

Haley found the campsite in a bloody mess and immediately she began to cry out frantically for her brother.

"Looks like a grizzly," Roy commented.

"Tommy!" Haley screeched.

Sam looked up at Dean uneasily. His thoughts were clear: _do you think so?_ And: _too much yelling. _

Dean made his way to Haley, who was crying over Tommy's bloody and abandoned cellphone. Dean let go of Sam to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey, he could still be alive."

Just then, someone started shouting for help.

In one swift motion, Dean swung Sam into his arms and ran with the others, all wildly seeking out the voice. Several times his toes caught on rocks, almost spilling the two Winchesters onto the dirt floor of the forest, but Dean's balance saved him every time.

When they found no one, a thought occurred to Dean. "Everyone back to camp, now!"

Nearly everything was gone.

But Dad's journal … Dean flipped through until he found a page: a creature with claws, that could mimic human voices. They were dealing with a wendigo. Sam tried to read his father's looping handwriting but Dean shut the book quickly.

"Come on," Dean tried not to shout. "We need to get out of her before nightfall. Things have changed."

"Kid, don't worry. I think I can handle whatever's out there."

"I'm not worried about myself pal, it's _you. _If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. So we're leaving. _Now._"

"You giving me orders, kid?" Roy growled, stepping into Dean's space. "Why don't you just bring your mistake back to his mommy and-"

Dean's lip was curling in time with his fist when Sam stamped his foot and cried, "Listen to Dean! it's a wendigo, we're hunting a wendigo-"

Dean grabbed Sam by the back of the shirt. "Sam!" he scolded. Sam looked down at the ground, biting his lip as his cheeks went red.

"But Dean …"

"Kid's crazy," Roy laughed.

Dean's head shot up. "Shove it-"

"Relax! All of you. Tommy might still be alive and I'm not leaving here with him. End of story."

"It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"They're Anasazi symbols. It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them."

Haley nodded. She had never imagined that her parents would have died. She never had imagined that her brother could go missing. Was it so hard to imagine this?

Roy, however, laughed.

"No one likes a skeptic, Roy."

Dean made his way to Sam, who was sitting a few feet away. A stick in hand, Sam was painstakingly tracing into the dirt the symbols that Dean had drawn.

"Nice, Sammy boy," Dean smiled a little.

Sam shrugged and pulled himself into a tinier ball where he was crouched. Sam started on a new drawing, his lower lip jutting out in concentration.

"Wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?"

Sam nodded but didn't say anything. Dean stifled a laugh.

"Well, you gonna say it?"

Sam kept scratching in the dirt until: "Daddy told us to come, but he's not here."

"No, he's not," Dean agreed simply. It was all he could do these days.

"I miss him, Dean." The stick fell from Sam's hand and Dean could hear the hitch in his brother's voice. "Why doesn't he miss us?"

Dean easily slipped a smile on his face and held out his arms to Sam. Sam was there in a heartbeat, crying and clinging. "Sammy, he does. I know he does. I don't always know why dad does what he does but … I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business."

Sam shook his head, his soft hair tickling Dean's neck. "I'm not a hunter," Sam whispered with a miserable sniff.

"You are my right hand man, Sammy," Dean said fiercely. Then: "Like Batman and Robin. You even helped out by learning to draw some protection symbols. Let me look at how great these are," Dean said enthusiastically.

It was then that Sam scrambled out his arm. "The second one wasn't … good," he admitted, and he ran to scuff it out with the toe of his shoe.

However, he wasn't quick enough that Dean didn't have the chance the notice that it wasn't that the symbol wasn't bad at all. It was just that Sam had drawn a heart, instead.


End file.
